


why brake

by teaceylon



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 09:56:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaceylon/pseuds/teaceylon
Summary: "I'm not scared of the crash or the speed." Charles made everything sound clear and simple."It's the fear of not making it that really kills me."





	why brake

He wasn’t expecting to find Charles all smiling, looking careless, still friendly and casual as usual. Not after crashing at 300kph in free practice, taking unnecessary risk, smashing into the most surprising corner, crawling out from burning cockpit, and simply shrugging everything away.

“Oh, hi Max.” Charles frowned, surprised but not impressed. “Sorry, wasn’t really expecting you, or anyone, to come by.”

“Are you alright?” Max was a bit unsure. He meant well, or perhaps something more that he would admit, but seeing this ‘nothing-happened indifferent Leclerc’ was concerning.

“Guess it’s good news for other teams. Oh please don’t come here to boast or make a fuzz about the race tomorrow. I’m ready as ever.”

“You don’t have to be so hostile.” Max held up a hand to stop him, trying form the right approach to talk. “You look surprisingly comfortable though.”

“What do you expect?” Even Charles himself sensing the tension, and looked guilty about the tone. “Why are you here?”

“I just want to check up on you. Everyone wanted to. All of the drivers and teams were worried.”

Charles waited for a moment, as if testing whether Max was about to leave, but when the latter stood insistently, he just shrugged and let Max in. “They sent you here?“

“No one sent me.” That Charles thought Max may have been forced, or had to be told, to come was oddly annoying.

“Sorry.” Charles slumped into the hotel armchair and rubbed his temple apologetically. “You’re probably the 300th person worrying, but the first one to actually say it out loud.”

“……What do others do?”

Charles huffed out a laugh. He doesn’t seem distressed, just tired. “They watch. It’s like I’m some kind of fictional animal that they’re still figuring out how to approach me.”

_I don’t blame them._  
Max suddenly felt a bit self-conscious, not sure how to behave, but it also didn’t make sense to just leave Charles there.

“I know everyone had the same question. They’d want to ask about my friend, Jules and if the tragedy continues…”

“That’s not why I’m here.” _Partly, though. _For a moment he thought he had crossed the line, but seeing Charles still attempting to smile weakly under the dim hotel light, he felt like he had to. There’s something bothering about Charles being so detached, acting all normal that’s almost infuriating. He needed to grasp at least a piece of reality from this. He had to ask.

“……why didn’t you brake?”

“What?”

“The crash.”

Some may presume it was a mistake, but Max knew, he had a feeling when he saw Charles gliding through the corner, that Charles pushed off the limit, consciously.

“It was avoidable. You went over the limit around a safe corner, where you shouldn't be pushing at all.”

Charles’ eyes widened for a split second, looking like he was caught, but came out frank. “We all want to be faster.”

“Not with such dangerous cost. There are plenty of other opportunities.”

“…We should be thankful that it was just a practice session. Or else I’d be the new torpedo.”

“You’re damn right, you might hurt someone. But that’s not my point.”

“…I saw no reason for slowing down if there’s any chance to go faster.” Charles shook his head slightly, but Max didn’t shift his gaze, he would not let him off the hook too easy. Charles’ action was not out of carelessness or recklessness, and his self-assumed justification was scary.

  
“I won’t do something stupid.”

Sensing Max’s seriousness, Charles let out a long exhale and he stayed silent for a few second before looking at Max straight into the eyes. Charles was not looking for redemption or forgiveness. He just by default thought Max would understand. And he was (partly) right.

  
“I live for two things. Winning and driving fast cars.”

Those words came out of Charles, voice soft and echoed in the pretentious hotel room, but sounding so dull and plain.

“Everything else is just...irrelevant. And I'd do whatever it takes to get a bit closer to the goal.

“I mean, yeah, life is great and all. Great music, crazy dancing and shit, they’re all good fun. And I really enjoy them.” He faintly smiled while playing with his hands. “Just, they don’t really matter.”

It felt too real yet too staged at the same time when the orange light of the standing lamp too cinematic, and Charles looking like a painting stilled in time, as the guard around him finally dissolving a tiny bit, and perhaps Max would get a glimpse, of what it was really, about Charles that upset him so bad.

“You were going almost full throttle at a slow corner, and that’s not a driver’s error. That’s attempted murder.”

“……I just thought I could make it. I wanted to make it.” Charles sighed.

“…By putting your life on the line?”

“Why not?” He tilted his head, looking all genuinely confused and so honest. “ Speed and winning, I cannot think of anything else that’d be more important.”

“Not when you put your life on the line.”

“Well, that’s something I really like about you. That you seem to care.” Charles smiled softly, averting his gaze again through the window, looking into no where.

“Don’t act like you don’t.”

He stayed silent for a few moments, not acknowledging Max’ statement, and remained in his own world. Max feared he would really counter that he doesn’t.

“The speed or the crash, they don't really scares me. It’s the idea of not making it, that really kills me.”

He hated it when Charles said everything so lightly, those cruel words with a smile, all those sentences too careless, making this in a matter-or-fact manner. He painfully understood what Charles was referring to, and he could have argued strongly for or against it, if Charles showed a bit of insecurity or doubt about the faith.

The theory is full of flaws, but when Charles put it like it’s the most normal thing, a common sense of his life routine, he didn’t know how to refute the idea.

“…You’ve already got some wins in your pocket.”

“That’s not enough. Never will be.” He snorted and looked away.

“I sometimes feel that I’m hearing voices, pushing me, mocking me, what if I don’t make it? What if I couldn’t win? What would I be, what am I worth if I'm not racing, if I'm not the fastest?”

"What do you mean by 'making it'?"

"Winning, be faster, podiums and champagnes, and all the mesmerizing ideas about being the best, I guess. What am I, without racing? without the speed?"

“So all this will be enough when you’ve become WDC? Then you’ll finally allow yourself to add something to the important things in life?”

“That’s always the goal, for all of us.” Charles thought about it for a moment, but shook his head again. “But, no, I don't think it'd be enough…there’s more to it. I mean, what’s the point of not being faster, the fastest?

“There’s always something more, like it’s asking me to push. There’s more to the car, more across the line, beyond the limit, more speed, the thrill and success when you push the throttle a bit more. I'm never going to be good enough, fast enough, and there's always something a bit more that I need to work on, something I need to jump and get it, until...until I can completely let go of my hands.” Lost in his own chanting, Charles looked almost possessed.

Max painfully understood the thrill in chasing incredible speed, when all the lights and colors blurred and everything within reach, and out of reach. Time stilled in those moment, ‘cause he was too fast, they were too fast. It was surreal, and addictive.

"It's such an appealing idea, you know? Thinking how I can lose it all at top speed."

But it wasn’t only the excitement that drew Charles into the whirl, there was almost a calling to drown him in it.

“Those thoughts, didn’t they tell you enough about Jules and Antoine? You, of all people, should know better.” Feeling sick about the idea, Max had to go back to his words, mentioning the inevitable. “You’d lose everything. You didn’t need to push through that turn, and you didn’t need to crash.”

“But why not?” He looked so naive, and genuinely puzzled. “Faster through the corner, just that slight bit on the throttle.”

“What if you didn’t make it, not the speed, but out of the car?”

“Then that’d be it. I guess.” There were no fear or doubt in those green eyes, and Charles made it sound like a grade school answer, too simple and clear, too clean that it infuriated and saddened Max at the same time. “I’d feel guilty for the team and for the guys working on the car. But really, crash would just be the course of it.”

“You’re speaking like those PR answers ‘I have no fear in the car’, but this is your life we’re talking about.”

Charles sighed tiredly. "I'm really more concerned about letting people down, of letting myself down. I always feel 'not-enough'. that I can push more, that there's more to grab.

“Crash itself really, doesn’t scare me. If it happens during a race, it’d be the timing when I’m chasing my dream.”

_It’s like you’re ready to die any moment._  
“Don’t speak of WDC or racing like it's your death wish.”

“I feel like I’ve been prepping for it for my whole life. Everything was for that eventual moment.”

He was even smiling, Max felt torn and rage inside him, but he just couldn't find the right way to let it out. His voice being absorbed into the lush carpet and curtains, but the air and weight of words so thick that Max could feel the heaviness on the shoulder.

“You know, I’ve never thought I’ll be telling you about this. But oddly, you seem to be the right person who would understand.” Charles seemed a bit apologetic, but more relieved as he read Max’ understanding on his face. Those days on the track, those borderline crazy moves, those moments when they were too competitive and on each other’s throat — that in a weird way, bonded them together.

“No shit. I can’t imagine you having this conversation with Kimi.”

“Not in a million years.”

“…What brought you back? I reckon you probably loosened the pressure on the pedal in the end.”

He pondered on it for a moment. “I guess it was the guilt of putting the team to work and letting them down.”

The only lingering thing that tied this person on earth was his sense of responsibility and loyalty, to others, and not to himself.

"You really want to add more tragedies to your sad prince image?"

"I'm selfish." Charles said with a weary smile. "I really cannot care much about what others will say or think."

Max felt sad and tired — this was the person he had been racing with, the person he deemed…well he did not want to recognize it, but the person he thought would be special. Max wanted to say something to hold on to him, when finally Charles was willing to reveal the slightest bit of himself.

“Why did you let me in tonight?”

“…I don’t know. Perhaps it was because there’s some part of you that…I don’t know, part of us that’s the same yet so different, that I …”

Charles’ expression was blank, but his eyes stared at Max intently. He's not seeking for answer or solution, but a reassurance that someone would understand.

For a long time, they just kept looking at each other, for all the words would be gone and meaningless in the morning, and he could still see Charles choosing between ‘I-don’t-know’, and, well many other choices.

————

He slept with Charles for the first time that night.  
The Monegasque was all pliant and welcoming, and it felt better than it should.

When he woke up the next day, Charles was, of course, gone, and it was just another race day.

He rolled over to the empty side of the bed, where Charles had been gripping the sheets so hard, all screaming in desire and despair, sobbing with tears that he could not tell if it was of pleasure or he was letting out something else. The gap was almost comical, the heated memories and the nothingness they left behind.

He looked at the spacious and lonely room, and couldn’t help but feeling angry and incredibly empty.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks for anyone who read through the work.  
I had this feeling that Charles and Max are so different, in their lifestyles, actions and approaches to races, yet very similar at the core. and I desperately want to see them interact somehow :)
> 
> I just abruptly had this idea and jobbed things down quickly. English's not my mother tongue, so please bear with me with grammatical mistakes, typos, run-on sentences and so on.


End file.
